


Nowhere Else I'd Rather Be

by Orcteeth



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/F, Fluff, these two are gross and in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-04-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 17:44:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6386035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orcteeth/pseuds/Orcteeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A handful of fluff originally posted <a href="http://orcteeth.tumblr.com/tagged/orcwords">on my Tumblr</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nowhere Else I'd Rather Be

**Author's Note:**

> Siobhan is their cat and Sally is one of the junkyard dogs. You can see Frank's face [here](http://orcteeth.tumblr.com/tagged/frank) if you're curious about her.

Cait has trouble sleeping. She always has, but it's gotten even worse now that she's free from her chem addiction. With nothing to numb and nothing to distract, the quiet of night is no longer a welcome calm; it's an invite for her to remember what she previously did not. She stares up at the canvas of their tent. Tosses. Turns. Grumbles and sits up, resting her arms on her knees, lays her head down on them.

A familiar voice cuts through the dark, "Are you alright?"

" _No_ I'm not alright," Cait hisses. She pauses, remembers that Frank just wants to help. She sighs and lifts her head, "I can't sleep. When I close my eyes everything comes rushing back."

Frank frowns and scoots back, bumping shoulders with Cait. "I'm sorry. Anything I can do?"

"I don't know. Maybe I should just get drunk."

"Sorry hon, but no. You - _we_ \- can't do that anymore." Frank furrows her brows. "Not as a way to solve problems, anyway."

Cait groans, "I know... I know." She leans against Frank, resting her head on her shoulder. "Got any new games on that Pip-Boy of yours?"

Frank hums, flips through the programs to _Grognak and the Ruby Ruins_. She motions to Cait's left wrist and, once given it, draws her hand to her lips for a quick kiss before strapping the Pip-Boy on.

Cait snorts at the kiss, moving to sit between Frank's legs, "I hope you don't think you're slick with that." She settles back against Frank's chest, head tucked under her chin, and starts the game.

"Hell no," Frank chuckles. "Just thought you might need that."

"Quiet. I'm concentrating."

"Uh huh. I can practically hear you smiling." She wraps her arms around Cait loosely, grinning. "And this part is all dialogue."

Cait reaches back and covers Frank's mouth with her hand, leaving it there until she has to tap the screen to progress. She turns her head enough to catch a glimpse of Frank, lips curled into a smile, "Thanks."

"Anytime."

They fall into silence, save for the music and sound effects coming from the Pip-Boy. Frank alternates between watching the game and the horizon. Occasionally Cait grumbles about a "bullshit enemy". When the telltale beep of continued dialogue never comes, Frank moves carefully to peek at Cait. Asleep, finally. Knowing full well that she'll wake up if she tries to move her to the sleeping bag, Frank opts to remain where they are though she does turn the volume on the Pip-Boy down.

She doesn't have the heart to wake Cait for a change of watch when the time comes.

* * *

The fight is unexpected, could even be an ambush despite how poorly it goes. They expect better from the Gunners, especially given both of their reputations by now. But this? A handful of conscripts for a Sentinel and an ex-cage fighter? This is a truly pathetic showing. To make things worse, it's over before the fun can really begin with a few good swings and shots... but not before Frank's face is introduced to the butt of a rifle. It's the only good strike their attackers manage.

Frank grins, bloody and bruised, as she flops down on the ground after the scuffle. Getting hit in the face is her favorite past-time by now. It's hardly a deterrent. Her knuckles - and the bodies littering the field - are proof of that.

Cait kneels in front of her, dabbing blood from Frank's face. She tosses the cloth aside, half-frowns and sighs. "Lean your head forward and pinch your nose."

"Nice view," Frank quips as she dips her head, eyes settled on Cait's chest by necessity. Partially.

"Aw, thanks," Cait replies, "You really know how to make a girl blush." She cleans Frank's knuckles, goes lighter when she hears a sharp inhale, repeats the process when Frank switches hands. Leaning back on her heels, Cait hooks her finger under Frank's chin. "Let's see how your nose is doin'."

Frank raises her head and drops her hand. Breathes through her nose and waits. When no blood starts to drip, Cait smirks and tilts her head. "All better. Maybe next time pay attention, eh?"

"You didn't notice them either."

"I'm not the one who got her face beat in, darlin'."

Frank pouts, arms crossed firmly across her chest. Cait laughs, leans forward, cups Frank's cheek and kisses her nose softly. She hops up to her feet, swinging their shared pack onto her shoulders. Frank checks the nearby Gunner corpses for anything worthwhile - some caps, some ammo, chems to sell, but nothing too outstanding. She strolls over to Cait and drops the loot into the pack, sneaking a quick kiss as she walks passed her to take the lead.

It's all the thanks Cait needs. 

* * *

Of the 1.5 places close to the city they have to live in, Cait prefers Hangman's Alley. The Prydwen provides no privacy whatsoever and, really, who wants to be packed like sardines in a flying tin can, even if it is impressive? The house Frank is building at Boston Airport is nowhere near finished - there's a bed and three walls, which is hardly an improvement over the Prydwen.

So they find themselves in Hangman's Alley, lounging on the roof with a blanket to sit on, soaking up midday sun. It's unusually quiet except for the playful growls and scuffling below from Dogmeat and Sally. Frank has her head in Cait's lap, eyes closed and smiling; Cait hums an unfamiliar tune as her fingers brush alternately through the shaved and long parts of Frank's hair. She lifts a handful of the latter up, letting it fall from her fingers slowly. Frank blows a few stray strands off of her face.

"Are they goin' to make you cut it?"

Frank opens her eyes, squinting briefly at the onslaught that is sunshine. "They said I have two choices: Either shave it down or keep it tied back."

Gently nudging Frank's head so she's facing away, Cait gathers the hair and pulls it back in a mock ponytail. She hums contemplatively, nodding in approval. "Well, I think you could pull off either one," she smirks, twirling the makeshift ponytail around the index finger of her free hand, "though I'm partial to the tied back option."

"Why do I feel like you have an ulterior motive?"

Cait laughs softly, "I dunno what you're talkin' about, darlin'."

Frank sighs, exaggerating for effect though it fools no one - not with the broad grin that's spread across her face - and closes her eyes again. 

* * *

Cait stares, bewildered, at whatever the hell it is Frank is building. Trying to build. She's sitting on the ground with her back to Cait and, judging by the cocked head, mumbled  _what the fuck_  and thoughtful finger tapping, is just as bewildered.

Which is concerning since she's the one with the tools and pile of wood and scrap metal.

But Cait chooses not to say anything. Instead she watches Frank pick up a long piece of wood followed by another and hold them perpendicular to each other. Apparently pleased with whatever result that yields, she tries to nail the two pieces together only to split the wood completely in half.

"Oh come on!" Frank growls, dropping the hammer in a huff. She glares over her shoulder, one nail still held between her lips, tone a mixture of disappointment and frustration, "Enjoying the show?"

"Maybe you should take a break... not that I don't love watchin' you work with your hands." She saunters over, plucks the nail from Frank's mouth and looks down at the mess. "What're you tryin' to build? And why?"

Frank blinks, glances to the pile then back to Cait. "A chair. And... I don't know, I thought maybe I could? It's just some wood attached to more wood." She scrunches her face and slumps, elbow on her knee and head on her hand. "But this wood is shit and I am the furthest thing from a carpenter."

"You're much better at destroyin' than creatin', Treasure," she squeezes Frank's shoulder, "We both are. Do you want to give it another shot?"

Frank nods, scooting over a bit as Cait joins her on the ground. Two pairs of hands are much more efficient than one, managing to put together what's meant to be the legs of the chair surprisingly fast. When the wood starts to crack, Cait elbows Frank, reminds her to be gentle with the hammer. Frank scoffs, mimics Cait playfully, but does what she says. It turns out to be good advice, as they get the back of the chair built with little trouble. Cait glues a re-purposed cushion to the seat once all is said and done, rising to her feet after. Frank stands as well, running a hand through her hair and resting it on the back of her neck.

Cait snorts, "There's no way I'm sittin' on that thing."

"There's no way I'd let you."

The chair is, by all accounts, a disaster. Uneven, pointy in all the wrong places, most definitely not structurally sound. They're silent for a moment as they regard it. Frank smiles slowly, starts to laugh as she puts an arm around Cait's shoulders. It's contagious - Cait laughs along with Frank, holding onto her waist to stay upright.

They keep the chair as a reminder to never try such a thing ever again.

And to ward off would-be raiders.

* * *

Early morning sunlight filters in through the windows, reflecting off the ever-present dust floating in the air. Liberty Prime's unmistakable footsteps thunder in the distance. It doesn't bother them anymore - it'd be much more jarring for there to  _not_  be the constant sound of clanking metal.

Cait's bootsteps pale in comparison to the robot's as she carries a bucket of water up from the pump outside. Setting the bucket down on the floor, she slips up behind Frank and wraps her arms around her waist. She hums, watching Frank chop up some type of meat, "What's for breakfast?"

Frank grins, leaning back into Cait. "Scrambled eggs with diced mirelurk," she gives Cait a clumsy peck on the cheek, "Boil that water for tea?"

"Do we even have any?" Cait asks with a smile, reluctantly unwrapping herself from Frank, hands lingering. Not waiting for an answer, she pours the water into a kettle and sets it on an up-until-that-moment unused burner and switches it on. 

"Teagan got me some. He owed me, anyway." She misses Cait's warmth immediately. Shifting on her feet and muttering something about a profound lack of cheese for the scramble, Frank adds the mirelurk to the eggs.

Cait takes a seat at the table and snorts, "I'm pretty sure everybody on that ship owes you." Frank laughs in response, shrugging.

The smells and sounds of cooking fill the room, soft crackle-pops and sizzles. Dogmeat joins them, tail wagging and ears perked, lingering near the stove in hopes of scraps. Cait scoops up a politely meowing Siobhan, quickly changing meows to purrs with chin scritches. Dishing out the food in equal portions, Frank sets a plate down for herself and Cait, forks included. The mugs come next, then the tea bags and the whistling kettle. Dogmeat whines. Siobhan sniffs eagerly at Cait's plate.

"I didn't forget about you, relax," Frank says to the animals, rummaging through the fridge for brahmin meat already prepped in easy to chew chunks. She fills two bowls on the floor before finally joining Cait at the table. "Bon appetit, everyone."    

Somewhere outside a Brotherhood drillmaster yells what passes as encouragement at troops. As far as they're concerned, smiling and chatting across the table, that's another world entirely. 


End file.
